


Hanging On the Words You Say

by allwaswell16



Series: Dive [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 27 and 35 to be exact, Actor Harry, Age Difference, American Harry Styles, Beach House, Bisexual Harry Styles, British Louis Tomlinson, California, Famous Harry, Famous Louis, First Dates, Football Player Louis, Grey Sweatpants, M/M, Malibu, Masturbation, POV Multiple, Part 2 of 5, Pop Star Niall, Series, Songwriting, Wordplay Challenge, famous/famous, past football injury, prompt: hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-10 22:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15301848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allwaswell16/pseuds/allwaswell16
Summary: Newly retired football star, Louis Tomlinson has left Manchester for Malibu. California has been full of surprises, including a date with a very fit movie star, a songwriting session with a pop star, and the hope that maybe there is a life for him after football.





	Hanging On the Words You Say

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a Wordplay prompt challenge that a group of us are participating in for the prompt "Hope". To read the amazing fics that were written by the others on this prompt, [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/wordplay_hope/works), and to see all fics written as part of the challenge, [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/wordplay_fic_challenge/works) or find the masterpost for this year’s challenge here.
> 
> Also a part of the Dick Prints & Grey Sweatpants Collection. You can find more information on this on tumblr at [1dgreysweatpants](https://1dgreysweatpants.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you to taggiecb for the beta/hand holding! <3 And thank you to my Brit picker yousopugly for all your help as always! <3

PART TWO: Hope

  
  


“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Harry mutters as he rifles through the clothes in the relatively small closet in Annie’s house. “Annieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I need help!”

Annie appears in the doorway to her guest room, which he has decided to live in indefinitely or until he chooses a new movie role. It has its perks. Having his best friend to talk to whenever he wants, the beach just outside the large glass sliding doors, the fantastic Malibu sunsets--the unbelievably hot, British former soccer--er, football player next door. What it lacks is an enormous walk in closet with all his high end designer clothing. Most of that is currently in his own house in Beverly Hills, which is very unhelpful seeing as how he doesn’t have time to go there now without being late for his soccer watching date with the hot soccer player.

He flops onto the bed and covers his eyes with one arm. “I don’t have any clothes. I can’t go on a date with Louis when I don’t have any clothes.”

“H, I can’t even walk into the room because the floor is covered with all your clothes, which by the way, I can’t even believe you could fit this many clothes into that closet.”

He peeks out at her from under his arm. She’s attempting to inch her way into the room without stepping on his clothes. He sighs and sits up. 

“I need to be over there in twenty minutes! It’s reached crisis stage.”

Annie rolls her eyes. “You’re watching a soccer game on television. Just wear some sweatpants or something.”

He gasps, scandalized. “I couldn’t possibly! I have to look good!”

Annie shrugs. “I think guys look good in sweatpants.”

“No, no, no, no, no. It implies far too much. Either I’m a slob who can’t be bothered to dress up a bit for a date, or I’m entirely too familiar and freeballing in some sweatpants.”

“Well, I didn’t say you had to free ball it, but I see what you’re saying,” she says as she begins picking a black t shirt off the floor. “What about this one? I think it says,  _ I’m a casual guy,  _ but in a hundred dollar t shirt kind of way.”

He eyes it critically. She’s right. “Yep. Yes. Okay.”

He tugs the t shirt on starts digging through the piles of clothes that he’s thrown about the room until he comes up with a pair of tight black jeans with a hole ripped artfully on one knee. “These?”

“Hmmmm. Yeah, I think those are fine.”

“Fine? That’s not good enough.” He throws them back onto the floor. “I need something that makes me look hot--sexy--”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” Annie frowns. “It’s hard to see you as sexy. I mean, I’ve seen you pick your nose and like piss your sleeping bag.”

Harry’s lips press into a line. “Not helpful right now. And I was like five years old when I peed that sleeping bag!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Annie apologizes, putting her hands up in surrender. “I think those jeans will do the job. For real. Advertize the goods and such.”

He pulls them up his legs, tugging when they get caught on his thighs. He stands up and throws his arms out wide in invitation for analysis. “Well?”

“I think they look good. Showing off the legs and the dick. Your most prized body parts.”

He stares at his reflection in the mirror. His legs and dick do look quite good in this. He rolls the sleeves up a bit, really shows off the biceps and tattoos that way. He starts pulling on some sparkly boots, but Annie makes a noise of disapproval. 

“I really think it’s too early in the day for sparkle. It’s a noon date, which by the way is a weird time for a first date.”

“That’s when the game is on. Can’t really help that. It’s my only excuse for a date!” He reluctantly tosses aside the boots and grabs a pair of plain brown ones. 

“Put some socks on. I wouldn’t want Louis to get a look at your Hobbit feet this early on. Might put him off.”

“Oh shut up,” he says, but he does pull some socks on before zipping the boots. 

He’s only got five minutes left now, so he races to the bathroom and tries to do something with his hair that he’s not really sure is working, but it’s too late now to try anything different. He practically races out the door at one minute until noon as Annie calls out after him.

“Don’t put out on the first date! Or maybe do! What do I know?”

He chuckles over that a bit at that as he walks briskly to Louis’ front door and takes a deep breath. He’s going to just work on not being so nervous, not work on getting Louis naked. Oh god. Louis naked. Stop thinking about it, he tells himself as he knocks politely. 

The door opens, and Harry tries his best not to moan. Louis has sweatpants on. Annie was right. Guys really do look good in sweatpants. This guy in particular looks very very good in sweatpants. They hang low on his hips, just fitted enough to make out a rough outline of his dick against the fabric. 

As if this all weren’t enough, Louis has on an enormous Manchester United t shirt with the sleeves cut off of it exposing the large tattoos on his arms and the sides of his chest as he motions Harry into the house. Harry tries to normalize his breathing as he flops onto the couch and desperately tries not to think about the hint of nipple he just saw exposed. He’s pretty sure it’s too soon to say anything to Louis about his nipples.

“--or is it too early for that?”

Shit. He has no idea what Louis has just said. Too early for what? Exposed nipples? He needs to say something. “Never too early, I always say.”

Louis nods. “Alright lad, afraid all I’ve got is Guinness. A housewarming gift from Niall.”

He doesn’t actually want a Guinness, but it’s too late for that now. Fuck, who would say it’s never too early for beer? Hopefully, Louis won’t think anything of it. They  _ are _ watching a sport, so maybe it’s okay that he’s said it.

Louis comes back in with two beers and does a rather thorough once over. “Should I have dressed a bit posher? Figured it was just a football match on the telly though.”

“What? No! No, no. What you’re wearing is fine--great. You look--” Harry coughs into his hand. “You look amazing actually. Like you said, it’s just a football game.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, a slow smirk spreading across his handsome face. God, his cheekbones could slice through steel. 

“I’m wearing joggers and a shirt I cut up myself,” Louis scoffs. “You just called it football by the way. Don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten my promises. First reward is that I’ll at least change my shirt for our date.”

Harry stares longingly at the shirt. He wants to slide his hands right inside the arm holes and press his fingers against Louis’ skin. “Feels more like a punishment.” 

Fuck. He didn’t mean to say that out loud. 

Louis laughs. “Be right back.”

And now Harry sees where the reward comes in because Louis whips his shirt off over his head and begins sauntering away, presumably towards his bedroom to find another shirt. The sweatpants sit just over the swell of Louis’ ass, and oh what an ass it is. His cheeks press against the fabric so beautifully as Louis’ hips sway as he heads towards the staircase.

He comes back down in a sheer, black t shirt. Harry might set himself on fire right here on Louis’ very comfortable couch. Louis gives him a look that Harry’s afraid means he knows what Harry’s thinking right now, which would be slightly inconvenient because he’s not sure it’s good first date etiquette to be thinking quite this much about your date’s nipples.

“Was thinking of ordering us a pizza if that’s okay?”

“Sure, sounds good to me.”

Louis appears to be scrolling on his phone for a minute and then mutters under his breath, “Why are there no Dominoes here?”

Harry barks out a loud honking laugh that he tries to smother. “Sorry, no Dominoes in Malibu. I mean, you could maybe find one close enough that would deliver? But probably we should just  order D’Amores.”

Louis’ eyes narrow. “Is it real pizza though? Or some weird California bullshit pizza with fruit on it?”

Harry laughs again. “No, really. The people who run it are very into it being authentic Neapolitan style pizza.”

Louis looks less than convinced. “Is it posh pizza though?”

Harry grins. “I mean, yeah, probably. I think they import most of the ingredients from Italy, even the water to make the crust.”

Louis lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, let’s get posh Malibu pizza.”

“Well, you do live in Malibu now,” Harry points out. 

Louis lets out a small grunt of acquiescence. 

After he orders something with a few taps on his phone, he sits down on the other end of the couch, and Harry finally notices the mound of pillows between them. 

“Ehm--sorry,” Louis says. “I’ll just--”

He knocks the pillows to the ground and scooches over a bit closer to the center. 

“Were those to prop up your leg? I sort of--noticed you propping it up the other day.”

Louis shrugs. “Yeah, it hurts off and on. It’s fine enough right now though.”

Harry shoots him a look of concern. “Okay, but if it hurts, please keep it elevated. I don’t want you to be in pain on my account.”

“It’s fine. Really.”

Harry isn’t sure he believes him, but he doesn’t want to make a big deal of it on their first date. Plenty of time to take care of Louis in the future, if they do have a future that is. He’d like to take care of Louis’ needs in multiple ways, he thinks, as Louis props his feet on the table and Harry can’t help but admire the bone structure of his ankles. That’s just where he wants to start, right there at Louis’ feet. He lets a mental image invade of himself on his knees right there between Louis’ legs.

He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He needs to calm these thoughts down because the jeans he’s wearing don’t leave a lot of room for imagination if he gets too--excited. He’s thankful that the game begins. 

He really only knows the basics about soccer, and he’s been careful not to utter that word in front of Louis. Doesn’t want to risk a reward; whatever it might be, he’s sure he wants it. Louis gives a bit of an explanation to the things he doesn’t understand, but mostly he can follow along fairly well just through what the announcers are saying. 

“Why are they all booing that good looking player on the other team they keep panning to?”

“Pssshhhh, Ronnie? You think he’s good looking, do you?”

There’s a hint of something in Louis’ voice. Jealousy? Harry smiles a little at the thought. “Uh, yeah, he’s clearly good looking, but why are they yelling at him?”

“Well, that  _ good looking player  _ used to play for us, so they see him as a bit of a traitor, you know? I mean, he’s one of the greatest football players in the world, so that’s part of it, too. He’s the enemy now and a skilled one at that.”

They turn their attention back to the screen, and the sound of the announcers saying Louis’ name has Louis stiffening next to him. 

_ “Quite unfortunate that they don’t have Louis Tomlinson out there on the pitch anymore. One of the few rivals Ronaldo had in goal scoring. Surprising that they didn’t offer up a package to him instead of letting him go to Juventus, seeing as how Tommo was out for at least this season if not officially retired.” _

_ “I think the rumour is definitely retirement especially now that we know he’s out sunning himself on the beach at the moment. Bought a house in Malibu and hasn’t been seen since.” _

Harry chances a glance at Louis. His face has turned to stone.

_ “Yes, doesn’t sound like he’s on the track for surgery and recovery, does it? Of course, he’s not as young as he used to be so maybe--” _

Louis stands up. “Gonna grab another Guinness. You want one?”

“Uh, no thanks, but um--water maybe?”

Louis gives him an unexpected sly grin. “I’ve got SmartWater. Is that posh enough for you?”

Harry snorts. “Yes, that’s fine. I’m not actually that posh, you know? Well, if I’m understanding what you mean by posh anyway.”

“Sure, sure,” Louis says with a laugh.

“I’m not fancy!” Harry calls after him. 

“How much did that t shirt you’re wearing cost?” Louis calls from the kitchen.

“Well, shit,” Harry mumbles. 

“That’s what I thought!”

Louis reenters the room with two waters instead of another Guinness for himself. He winces as he sits down.

“Louis.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to ice your knee?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. It’s just I ran a little too much today. Not really used to running on sand.”

“Louis, what the fuck? Why are you running at all if you have a bad knee?”

A mulish look comes over Louis’ face, and Harry has a bad feeling he’s about to learn how stubborn this man is. “I want to stay in shape.”

“In shape for what?” Harry points at the soccer game that’s still being played on the screen. “They said you were retired.”

“So? Doesn’t mean I can’t stay fit. Just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“I don’t know you that well, Harry, so I’d rather not discuss it.” Louis folds his arms across his chest. 

Harry lets out a loud breath. This is true. Louis doesn’t know him that well. He doesn’t know that he clearly needs someone like Harry. “I’ll stop discussing it if you prop your leg up and put some ice on it. I’ll even let you use me as a pillow.”

Louis’ lips twitch in the corners. “A pillow, yeah?”

“Yep. You can either rest your head on my lap and I’ll play with your hair, or you can put your feet up and I’ll give them a massage.”

Louis looks at him strangely. “Who even are you?”

Harry shrugs. “Harry Styles?”

“Okay, Harry Styles. But you’re not touching my feet. Bit weird to let someone touch your feet on a first date. Maybe by date seven or summat.” 

Harry brightens. “We’re having a date seven?”

Louis stares into his eyes. “Yeah, if you want a date seven, there’ll be a date seven.”

Harry feels quite pleased with this statement and motions for him to lay down. Louis puts a finger up as though to ask him to wait and walks back towards the kitchen. He returns with an ice pack that he wraps around his knee. He sets up a pillow to put beneath it and then shuffles his ass into position before laying back on a pillow propped on Harry’s lap. They continue to watch the game with Louis’ colorful commentary, which has Harry laughing quite often, as he combs his fingers gently through Louis’ soft hair. It’s just as soft as he suspected. 

When the pizza comes, Louis admits it’s delicious though he won’t admit it’s as good as a Dominoes back home. Harry’s fairly sure he’s bluffing, but he lets it slide. The game ends with Louis’ team winning, and Louis pumps his fist into the air, spilling water out of the bottle all over his tiled floor. 

Louis walks him to the door. “I had a really good time with you, Harry. You’re welcome to come over to any and all future football games.” 

Harry feels a bit bolder than just leaving their future plans up in the air. “Maybe we could go to dinner on Friday.”

“You asking?”

Harry lets a smile unfold across his face. “I am.”

“I’ll see you Friday then.”

There’s a slight hesitation, but instead of walking out the door, he turns and steps back towards Louis. Louis takes the hint and closes the distance between their lips. It’s clear from the start that Louis is in charge of this kiss. Louis’ soft lips press against his own as his hand smoothes over Harry’s jaw until his fingers cup his neck and his thumb caresses a spot just below his ear. 

He makes a noise low in his throat at the sensation as Louis’ tongue presses against the seam of his lips. Harry opens for him and kisses him back with such fervor that Louis stumbles back a bit, and Harry suddenly remembers his bad knee, pulling away a bit. It’s a much sweeter kiss than Harry can remember sharing with just about anyone else. 

He feels like he could float away, a helium balloon against the blue sky. He stares into Louis’ blue, blue eyes and can’t wait to see him again, kiss him again. “So Friday then?”

“Friday,” Louis echoes. He looks as affected as Harry feels. He hopes that he is anyway.

///

Two days after his date with Harry, Louis still finds himself obsessing over it a bit. He really wishes he had asked him out for an earlier date than Friday, but somehow Harry always beats him to the punch when it comes to making plans thus far. He’s in a bit of a Harry induced haze, scrolling through the texts they’ve sent each other over the past two days. Just a bit of banter, really. He moves on to scrolling through Harry’s Instagram when he’s interrupted by a loud, yet oddly rhythmic pounding at his front door. 

Could really only be one person. He opens the door. It’s Niall. But then, he already knew that. 

“Hiya, mate.”

“Hi, Niall.”

“Whatcha up to? Interested in hearing a new tune?” Niall asks, waltzing into the house with his guitar, sure of his welcome.

Louis opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t even get words out before Niall barrels on. 

“Good. Because I’m having a terrible time with it. I’ve just got no idea for lyrics for it, but I like the way it sounds. You know anything about music, Lou?”

“You know you’re the only person I know who calls me Lou?”

Niall snorts. “Well, I’m not gonna call you Tommo, am I? Not some football player who’s known you for ages. What’s your mum call you?”

“Louis.”

“Well, Lou, I think it’s a travesty that more people don’t call you, Lou. Almost as big a travesty as my song.”

“Oh, well--I mean, I used to dabble a bit with music--”

Niall’s eyes widen comically. “You dabbled? Lou, mate, you’ve been holding out on me! Do you play anything?”

Louis shrugs. “Ehm--yeah, yeah, I play the guitar and a bit of piano. Back when I had time, I’d write a few things down in a notebook, but--”

“Well, fuck me. You might just be who I’m looking for then.”

Louis squirms a bit, uncomfortable now that he’s revealed his interest in music to a famous musician. “I’m sure I’m not. Don’t get your hopes up that I’ll be able to help you.”

“Oh, my hopes are up. They’re way up.”

“Great,” Louis sighs as he plops down onto his sofa. Niall follows him into the room, choosing to sit on the large ottoman in front of the sofa that Louis uses as a table most days, so he can sit directly opposite Louis. Niall’s enthusiasm and close proximity is a little unnerving. 

“Okay, just listen to what I’ve got so far and tell me what it makes you think of and then I’ll tell you more about what I’m hoping for.”

Louis nods, and Niall begins the opening chords of the song. He lets the melody of the song wash over him, and it gives him a happy, pleasant feeling. He itches to scribble down lyrics, which is something he hasn’t had the desire to do in years. By the time he hits what must be the chorus, the uplifting feel of the song has hope blooming in his chest. The words stir in his mind and try to arrange themselves into a story, a song. He needs to write this down.

The bridge begins, and Louis jumps up off the sofa. Niall’s hand slips in surprise and his guitar goes quiet as Louis darts off to the kitchen where he thinks he has a pad of paper for grocery lists. 

“Hey, mate did ya think of something or are you poorly? If you’ve got a dicky tum, maybe I should go back to mine,” Niall calls out after him.

He snorts and heads back into the living room with a pen and pad of paper. “Play the song again, Nialler.”

Niall’s entire face lights up like the sun. “Nialler? I’ve got a nickname!”

“Doesn’t everyone call you that?” Louis could have sworn he’d heard people say it before, maybe even his sisters.

“Yeah, but not everyone is my favorite footballer who apparently has a secret talent for music.”

“Mate, no one ever said I had any talent for it.”

“Well, let’s find out.”

Niall starts the song from the beginning, and Louis lets the song flood his senses again. It’s a feeling he remembers but hasn’t felt in such a long time that he just lets himself enjoy it for a moment before he lets the words begin to trickle into his mind.

He starts scribbling down thoughts and phrases and as the song progresses some of them rearrange themselves. It reminds him so much of how he feels on the pitch, where his body just knows what to do to produce what he wants. There’s always a catalyst, the ball and other players or in this case the sound of Niall’s song.

Niall snatches the pad of paper away from his as soon as he plays the last chord. 

“I mean, it’s just some thoughts and not really anything yet--”

Niall looks like he might cry. “Lou! You’re helping me write a song, mate!” 

Louis can feel blood rush to his cheeks. “It’s not much, but maybe if you--”

“Oh, I’m playing the song again, don’t you worry, Lou.” 

They play the song again and again, and Niall stops after every run through to help add words and find the right phrases. Louis orders them pizza from the same place Harry suggested when they realise how late it’s gotten.

“I seriously relate to that line though, Lou.  _ Escape from the city and follow the sun.  _ I mean, we’re both in Malibu, ain’t we?” Niall chuckles, his mouth full of pizza. “And not to get too deep on you, but  _ There’s a moment when you finally realise/There’s no way you can change the rolling tide,  _ that’s about football, huh? Sorry about that.”

“It is what it is,” Louis says flatly. 

“That your motto or something? I know you got it tattooed across yourself like you might forget or something,” Niall laughs, clearly feeling cheeky.

Louis rolls his eyes. “I guess you could say that.”

A sly grin appears on Niall’s face. “Bet I know who’s got the devil in their smile.”

“Sod off.”

Niall starts laughing loudly, and then sings, “Cause I wanna be yours, don’t you wanna be mine?”

Louis salutes him with his middle finger, which just makes Niall laugh harder.

“I was just telling Harry yesterday he probably needed a thirst jar, but maybe you need one as well.”

“A thirst jar?”

“Yeah, I got one that I throw money in every time I start talking too much about how fit Annie is. Gotta learn to control myself if I’m ever gonna get her to go out with me.”

“What the fuck are you on about, Nialler?”

“Hey, it works. Well, actually there’s a lot of money in the thirst jar at the mo.’ But I’ll have plenty saved up for an extravagant date once I finally convince her to take a chance on me!”

He’s not even going to pretend to understand the way Niall’s mind works, so he just shakes his head.

“Anyway, I got tired of hearing about how fucking fit your arse is, so I told Harry he needed one.”

He’s suddenly a lot more interested in the thirst jar. “Oh. Ehm--so he--talks about me?”

Niall makes a rude noise. “He never stops talking about you. I’ve had to look at about twenty different shirts he might wear on Friday night.”

Louis isn’t sure what this feeling is in his stomach. It flutters around making him feel almost queasy like he’s about to play a World Cup match or something. “So he’s excited then?”

It’s Niall’s turn to roll his eyes. “Never seen him like this to be honest. I’ve had to hear a lot of shit about your eyes and eyelashes. Never thought I’d have to think about your eyelashes, mate. I mean, they do look quite nice now that I’m looking closely at them. Very long.”

Niall has leaned in closely as though to inspect his eyelashes, so he bats him away. 

“Anyway, the lad needs a thirst jar if anyone needs one. And if you’re gonna keep writing songs about how you’re ready to run, you’re gonna need one, too.”

Louis suddenly has a vision of Niall’s big mouth telling Harry about how Louis is writing embarrassing songs about him.

“Niall.” He can already hear the warning in his own voice.

“Yes?”

“You can’t tell Harry I wrote--anything about him.”

“But--”

“Niall.” 

Niall hops off the stool he’d been sitting on at Louis’ kitchen island and starts backing out of the kitchen. “Don’t you think that’s a bit unfair is all? After all I ran my mouth about him to you. Fair play and all that.”

Louis stalks after him, and Niall quickly grabs his guitar from the sofa as well as the pad of paper with the lyrics they worked on. “Better hold onto these. Wouldn’t want you to get any rash ideas about getting rid of evidence.”

“Niall,” Louis growls.

Niall flings the door open and scampers out. “I’ll be over tomorrow to work on the song, Lou!”

“Niall!”

Fucking hell. He’s pretty sure the odds aren’t in his favour about Niall spilling everything to Harry or at the very least Annie. Part of him is stressed about that, but his heart is full of more hope than he’s had since he knew football was no longer his future but his past. 

He sighs. His knee hurts a bit. Maybe he really shouldn’t keep trying to run. He needs to find something else to do. He tries to remember what the physiotherapist had told him. To be honest, everything she said was a bit of a blur. He wasn’t really focused on anything besides the harsh reality of being thirty-five and realising that even if he has the surgery, he probably won’t be able to come back at the same level he was at before. 

He heads back into the kitchen to retrieve his ice wrap and plops himself back on the sofa. It doesn’t really hurt that much, but he’s found if he ices it before the pain gets too great, he can avoid taking any pain meds. It certainly doesn’t hurt enough to keep his mind off of writing again. He wonders if he’s really helped Niall write a song. He smiles a bit to himself.

And then his mind wanders to one of the subjects of the song, and he pictures Harry sitting on the other end of the sofa the way he did when he was here for their date. Those tight black jeans showed his long legs to perfection. Louis can’t help but imagine them parted as he crawls up in between them. Fuck it. He decides to give in to his thoughts. 

He heads into his bedroom without another thought and quickly grabs lube from the top drawer next to his bed. He flops back onto his bed, closes his eyes, and lets his slicked up hand slip inside his joggers and wrap around his cock. He pictures Harry on the sofa as Louis tugs the black jeans down his long legs. He can practically hear the moan that Harry made when Louis was just kissing him. Fuck, that noise had gone straight to Louis’ cock. He’s already wanked to the thought multiple times.

This time, he lets his fantasy include stripping Harry’s tight pants down to just under his arse as he sucks him off. He would dearly like to get his mouth on him. Those jeans had been tight enough for Louis to get a good look at what he’d be working with if he got the chance. Louis increases the speed of his hand. 

He thinks about how fucking good Harry would look with his legs propped up on Louis’ shoulders as he fucks him. Christ, that’s just how he’d like to fuck him. He’d be able to see Harry pant and beg for him to keep going--faster--harder. His muscles start to contract and he tries to hold off for a few more moments and make it really good, but the fantasy of seeing Harry spread out before him has him so, so close. Louis’ mind goes fuzzy as his orgasm builds and then hits. 

He slides his hand out of his joggers, a bit sticky now, and rests it on his belly as he opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. He’ll get up in a moment and wipe himself up, but for now, he just wants to revel a little in anticipation of what’s to come next. Malibu has really been full of surprises. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading part two! Three more fics to come in this series! If you enjoyed it, please leave kudos or a comment if you can! And if you could [reblog this fic post](http://allwaswell16.tumblr.com/post/175955216986/allwaswell16-dive-a-five-part-series-written) that would amazing! <3 <3


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